Every Memorial Day, I have tried very hard to use my words just so, to express all that I feel about those who serve or have served our country mean to me. It's very difficult to put something so powerful in just a few short paragraphs. It's especially difficult to write it in such a way that didn't scream "I've spent most of my life in military families." I think it's okay now to stop hiding behind vague language and metaphors. That phase of my life has altered somewhat. I don't have to keep that secret anymore. I always get very choked up at Memorial Day, knowing it was just a quirk of fate that kept those I loved most in the world coming home from deployments and TDYs safe and whole. Not every military child and spouse was so lucky as I, and my heart aches for them. Not every service member came home with all of his or her friends, and I know by watching how it affects them every single day. They do not forget. They never will be able to. There is little I can do to ease their pain, other than understand and accept that it is legitimate, beyond my reach to help, and deserving of my eternal respect. Memorial Day offers a chance for us to pay tribute to those who did not make it home, and I do so by recognizing those who feel their absence most keenly.
I moved to Boulder the first time in 1985. In all the years I lived there, and in all the years I've been going back, I have never once gotten within spitting distance of the annual 10k race, the Bolder Boulder. This event draws tens of thousands of athletes from around the world, many of them elite runners, but most just people looking for a good time in the mountain air. This year I expected maybe to watch it on television, from my couch in my cool basement, miles away. But on Saturday, Mr S-P announced that he had gone and signed up for it, even though he had done nothing to train. Okay, then I guess I'll go along and take pictures, I said. I didn't know what I was in for. We parked well away from the starting line, at our daughter's condo, and we walked down to the gaggle of runners near where the new Google campus is being constructed. I waited until he started running, while wave after wave of participants stepped out. I saw hundreds of people in tutus, a couple kids dressed in balloons like bunches of grapes, superheroes, Waldos, a left shark, military folks, college athletes (including Chip the CU mascot running in costume), old people, young people, disabled people, and healthy people. More people wore American flag regalia than I expected, although I really should have. Many people were offered secondary bibs to wear on their backs, on which they wrote the names (and in some cases photos) of whom they wanted to honor on this Memorial Day event. The Mr wrote the name of one of his colleagues who was killed in Afghanistan in 2012, whose funeral we had attended at Arlington Cemetery four years ago.
As we walked to the starting line, Mr S-P had a severe stitch in his side. Right before his wave of runners lined up, he discovered that he was suffering from a kidney stone. But he was already there, already committed to running, so he did it. He set off, and discovered that running eased the pain somewhat. Maybe it moved it farther along, as it had to do. He took the course at what he considered an easy pace, so he could enjoy the sights and sounds, take pictures, and have a good time. As it was, I barely made it to the finish line before he was entering the stadium, and I took a phone call from our daughter right as he was running around the final loop of the track. I missed getting his picture. Dammit. Our daughter picked us up from the far west side of CU (the finish line had been in the stadium, as usual), and by the time we got home, my step counter in my phone announced that I had walked exactly 6 miles. For someone who didn't think she could possibly participate in the race, I ended up going almost the entire distance on foot, in the sun (with sunscreen, long sleeves, and a giant floppy hat). I didn't handle it with quite the good grace of the man who ran a 1:06 race with a kidney stone, but I didn't have a total breakdown or lose my temper in the heat. I call that a victory. Our daughter suggested that next year she and I should plan on walking the actual race. I have to admit I'm tempted. Let's see how the next year goes. I won't match Mr S-P's time, but if I complete the whole thing, it will be something to be proud of.
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